Renegade
by the Lady Katherine
Summary: While on vacation in France, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy bump into each other and sparks fly. An unsuspecting Hermione's in danger and Draco has his own twisted plan.
1. An Unexpected Meeting

DISCLAIMER: Most of the subject matter in this story is owned by J. K. Rowling. Chances are, if you recognize it, it's hers. I own only the setting (France), the plot, and the librarian in chapter four.

Hermione Granger gazed out of the kitchen window at the sight of the sea. She and her parents were vacationing in France, having rented a villa on the outskirts of a tiny village on the Mediterranean. There were five weeks left of the summer holiday before Hermione had to return for her seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Granger family, who had arrived the week before, had three weeks left to enjoy their vacation before returning to England.

Hermione stood in front of the kitchen window, sipping from a mug of hot chocolate as she watched the sun's first rays shining on the water. Occasionally she reached up to finger her hair, which she had had cut and styled only the day before. Her naturally bushy locks now hovered in defined curls around her shoulders.

After finally draining her mug, Hermione carefully rinsed it out and set it in the sink, taking care not to make too much noise. She glanced toward the stairs, but the sound of her parents' slumber never faltered.

Hermione stretched luxuriously then made her way toward the bathroom to take a shower. She paused in the doorway as a thought struck her, and instead of going inside, she turned around and went into her bedroom.

Walking over to the dresser, where all of her clothes were neatly arranged, Hermione sifted through the top drawer until she found her swimming suit. Quickly, she took her nightgown off and scrambled into the two-piece suit. She took her beach towel off its hook by the door and wrapped it around her waist as she descended the stairs once again.

Back in the kitchen, Hermione searched for a sheet of paper and a pen. Finding these, she wrote a quick note.

"Dear Mum, I've gone for a swim. I'll be back in a few hours. I love you. Hermione."

Taking the key to the villa off the dining room table, Hermione put the keychain around her neck. She set the note down where the key had been, and made her way out the door, locking it behind her.

Outside, the air was soft, and a mild breeze was blowing in from the sea. The sky was the pale blue of early morning, and the clouds were edged with pink and purple. Along the eastern horizon, the sky glowed orange and yellow. With her eyes squinted almost shut, Hermione cast a quick glance at the sliver of blinding sun that peeked over the top of the hill in front of her. Turning away again, she blinked the spots out of her vision and started down the road toward the sea.

It was perhaps a half-hour walk to the beach. The read to the shore passed about a half-mile from the village. The cluster of buildings looked picture-perfect from this distance, with the early-morning sunlight shining on the rooftops. Hermione admired the sight as she strolled along.

The beach, she discovered upon arrival, was deserted, which wasn't very surprising, since it was only about six o'clock in the morning. Hermione unwrapped her towel from around her waist and spread it on the sand, then waded into the water. It was cool, but not unpleasantly so, and Hermione waded in until the waves were lapping around her waist. She stared out at the seemingly endless sea.

She heard footsteps crossing the sand behind her, and turned to see a teenage boy around her age walking across the beach, pushing a bicycle by the handlebars. He stopped, not too far from where her towel was, and carefully set his bike on its side in the sand. He took the towel that hung from around his neck and draped it over the handlebars.

Hermione studied him. From where she stood, waist-deep in the water, she couldn't clearly see his face. All she could tell was that, because of his pale skin, he obviously wasn't from this part of France. She admired his hair, which was platinum blond and fell around his ears, as it was teased by the wind.

Hermione frowned, watching as the boy pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a muscular chest and arms. There was something about him that made him seem familiar and, somehow, not very French. This was puzzling.

Well, she thought, there was one way to find out.

"Bonjour!" she called.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

Draco Malfoy doubted that anyone would miss him that morning. Draco's father, Lucius, would be out all day doing whatever business had made him drag his wife and son to Muggle France in the first place. Draco's mother, Narcissa, would most likely spend the entire morning in bed, and wouldn't begin to worry about her son until midafternoon, by which time she would be thoroughly primped and ready to start the day. And, of course, the servants that had accompanied the Malfoy family were wise enough not to stop Draco from leaving.

And so it was that Draco left the house that morning without any hindrance. It was a tiny house by Malfoy standards, which sat almost in the middle of a small town in southern France. From Draco's bedroom window, one could see the Mediterranean less than a mile away.

Closing the door quietly behind him, so as not to anger his parents by waking them early, Draco made his way to the back of the house, where his bicycle was chained. It was a gift from his mother, to amuse him in the absence of his Nimbus 2001 racing broom. Muggles, Lucius had explained, were more accustomed to traveling on the ground, and Draco could not afford to expose the wizarding world by being seen flying on a broomstick.

Draco had been practicing on his new bike for a week, or however long it was he'd been forced to travel in this stupid Muggle fashion. He had only recently learned to keep his balance while riding it.

Draco unchained his bike, mounted it, and took a moment to hang his beach towel around his neck before pedaling away.

Draco Malfoy was going for a swim. He had woken up at an insanely early hour of the morning, and had not been able to fall asleep again. If he wasn't going to be able to sleep anymore, he had reasoned, perhaps a swim would wake him up enough to start the day. And at this time of the morning, no on was likely to be at the beach, so Draco could have it all to himself.

When he got to the beach, Draco dismounted and started to walk his bike across the sand. With a slight feeling of disappointment, he realized that he wasn't the only one on the beach. One lonely towel was spread out on the sand. He looked toward the water and saw someone – a girl – standing about forty feet out. 

Draco walked his bike further across the sand and carefully set it down on its side near the girl's towel. He took his own towel from around his neck and hung it over the bike's handlebars.

Aware that the girl was watching him, Draco stripped off his shirt and lay it over his towel. He was now wearing only his swimming trunks, which nicely displayed his muscular chest, arms, and legs, which he had gained through years of Quidditch training. That, Draco thought, ought to impress the girl, whoever she was.

"Bonjour!" came a soft alto voice from behind him. Draco turned to see the girl waving at him.

He studied her before replying. She had curly brown hair, which hung around her shoulders. She was wearing a rich blue bikini that accented her curves nicely. Draco blinked. He hadn't known that French Muggles could be so hot.

"Bonjour," he called back, and headed for the water.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

"Bonjour," the blond boy called in response, and started toward her. He had a nice voice, Hermione thought. But it, too, seemed vaguely familiar, and she didn't know why. This was beginning to bug her.

"Ça va?" she asked, watching him come. ("How are you?")

"Ça va comme çi, comme ça," he replied. ("I'm okay.")

This blond boy was pretty hot, Hermione thought. "Comment t'appelles-tu?" she asked. ("What's your name?") And as soon as these words left her mouth, Hermione realized...

"Malfoy?!"

He stopped, less than twenty feet away. "Granger? What the hell are you doing here?"

She glared at him. "I could ask you the same thing."

Malfoy smirked at her. "You could, but I wouldn't feel obliged to enlighten you."

Hermione snorted angrily. "Then what makes you think I would?"

He shrugged. "Fine, you don't have to tell me anything. And now that I think about it, I'd prefer it that way. I have absolutely no interest in your pathetic Muggle life." He sneered at her and waded past into the deeper water. Hermione had to forcibly keep herself from kicking him as he went by. She held her fists clenched at her sides, to prevent anything she might regret later. She sent one final glare in his direction and headed for the beach.

A furious battle was being waged inside Hermione's head. Part of her was barely restraining itself from bashing Malfoy in the face; the other part was mercilessly reminding her of his sleek muscles and soft blond hair. The former part wanted to storm away and return to the villa, hopefully never to see Malfoy again; the latter part wanted to hang around and check out the eye candy.

It ended up as a tie. Hermione picked up her towel and made her way further down the beach. She didn't want to quarrel with Malfoy, but she also wasn't willing to let him have the beach all to himself. After all, she had been here first.

Hermione spread her towel out again, glancing back over her shoulder at the figure in the distance that was Malfoy. He was far enough away that she couldn't quite see him clearly. And that was a good thing, she told herself sternly.

Hermione waded back into the water, scolding herself mentally. She would soon be returning to Hogwarts, where she would most likely see more of Malfoy than any sane person could stand. She could wait until then.

Her thoughts wandered. Going back to Hogwarts meant seeing her friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley again. Hermione thought of them with a bit of guilt; she hadn't written either of them much this summer. Harry was spending the summer at Ron's house, since his aunt, uncle, and cousin were visiting friends in Canada and had refused to allow Harry to accompany them.

Perhaps she ought to send them a letter tomorrow, Hermione mused. After all, it was Harry's birthday in a few days and she would be sending him his birthday present anyway. Hermione smiled with pride; she had really outdone herself this year in buying a gift for him. As well as buying a few extra gadgets for his Firebolt, Hermione had scored a copy of _The Limited Edition Encyclopedia of Quidditch Tactics_, which ought to please Harry no end, especially seeing as he had been voted the new Gryffindor team captain this year.

Hermione slogged past a buoy, which bobbed up and down with the waves. How strange, she thought. Why on earth did they need a buoy here? The water was barely above her waist. She turned to look back at the shore, which was a good distance away. She shook her head and continued to walk backwards.

She glanced down the beach toward Malfoy, her eyes easily picking him out from among the surf. His face was turned toward her; even from this distance she could tell he was watching her. She blushed, even though he wouldn't be able to see it, and stubbed her foot. She stumbled, trying to find her footing, and then there simply wasn't any sand under her feet anymore and she was falling through the water.

Hermione flailed her arms and legs in a desperate attempt to keep her head above the water. She wasn't going to drown, she told herself fiercely, she wasn't going to drown – and she was trying as hard as she could to stay afloat –

But there was one problem.

Hermione couldn't swim


	2. Heroics and Anger

DISCLAIMER: Most of the subject matter in this story is owned by J. K. Rowling. Chances are, if you recognize it, it's hers. I own only the setting (France), the plot, and the librarian in chapter four.

Draco Malfoy waded away from Granger, farther into the water. He was seething inwardly. Why did Hermione Granger, or all people, have to show up during his summer vacation and ruin everything? He saw enough of the girl at school; he was completely unwilling to put up with her when he wasn't at school.

Draco heard splashing behind him and turned to see Granger making her way toward the shore. Good, he thought. At least she had the brains to get out of his vicinity before he ended up cursing her halfway to the moon. Or, he forced himself to add truthfully, before _she_ ended up cursing _him_ halfway to Pluto. He scowled, remembering previous fights he had gotten into with Granger and her friends, Potter and Weasley.

As the years progressed, harmless bickering had given way to blows and spells. Draco still remembered being slapped by Granger in third year. He also remembered one fateful train ride in which Draco and his cronies had ended up cursed and unconscious outside Potter's compartment. And, of course, the incident in which Professor Moody had turned Draco into a ferret because Potter and his friends had initiated a fight.

It was times like those that Draco was grateful for his two looming cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Crabbe and Goyle were so large that most people, upon seeing them, were quite unwilling to mess with them. However, Crabbe and Goyle weren't much good for anything else; they were far too dumb to hold and intellectually stimulating conversation, which was what Draco craved in a friendship. In fact, there were very few students in Draco's school dormitory, Slytherin, who preferred brains over brawn. Slytherins, although smart, were mostly fond of picking on weaklings and generally making trouble.

The only person at Hogwarts, Draco mused, who was his age and on his intellectual level, was Hermione Granger. Granger was, after all, the only student in Draco's year whose grade point average was better than his. There was no doubt that she was smarter than he was. Her parents must have been a bookworm and a sponge, Draco thought in a sudden moment of illogicality, smirking. She read everything she could get her hands on and absorbed knowledge at an alarming rate.

Draco launched himself into the water and swam a few strokes before emerging again. He pushed his wet hair out of his face and turned to look at Granger. She had apparently decided that, while she didn't want to tangle with Draco, she wasn't going to give up her early-morning swim. She had spread her towel out again several hundred feet farther down the beach, and was making her way into the water again.

He studied her, watching the way she moved. She had a certain grace about her, even while fighting against the water in her attempt to go farther out from shore. In the distance, she cut a striking figure. Her soft, creamy skin contrasted with her rich blue swimming suit, and the newly risen sun shone gold on her curly hair.

Draco watched as she struggled – in her graceful manner – past a buoy. Her face, which Draco couldn't see clearly because of the distance, turned toward him. He saw her stumble, and try to find her footing, and then she disappeared under the water.

Draco shook his head, smirking. Why was Granger so fond of making a fool of herself?

Granger broke the surface for a few seconds, her arms moving like a pinwheel, before submerging again. Draco frowned. Couldn't she swim? He would have thought that Granger was wise enough not to go into the water if she couldn't swim. Especially if that water was the Mediterranean Sea...

A cold fear was starting to set in. Hermione Granger was drowning on a beach in France, and Draco Malfoy was the only person nearby.

He had to get to her.

Immediately, Draco started wading through the water. He couldn't explain why he was so desperate to help Granger. She was only a Mudblood, after all, and if she drowned here, the wizarding world – or at least, the only part of it that really mattered – wouldn't be any worse without her. Besides, if Hermione Granger were no more, Draco would have a straight shot at the highest grade in his year.

But if Granger died, it would be practically an act of murder on Draco's part. And Draco, although he would never admit it, had never actually killed anyone, and hoped fervently that he would never have to.

Draco struggled onward. Granger's head hadn't come up for a while. By now Draco was very frustrated; the water was dragging at his legs, making his progress slow. He leaned forward and pushed off into the water. Swimming was much quicker; Draco still had almost a hundred feet to go before he reached Granger.

Opening his eyes in the murky water, Draco could see a disturbance in the water ahead. Well, he thought, at least Granger was putting up a fight. He came up for air, then swam on.

Granger's struggles were dying down. Draco swam faster. As he approached her semiconscious, slowly sinking body, he suddenly understood what had made her disappear so quickly underwater.

There was a treacherous drop-off at the bottom of the seafloor in this area of the beach. It was nearly a ninety-degree angle. Draco replayed the scene in his head. Granger had been wading through the water. She had turned to look at him, stumbled, and lost her balance. In the attempt to regain her footing, she had gone over the edge of the drop-off.

Draco was close now, only a few feet away. He broke the surface again and took in a gulp of air, then dived. Granger's body was suspended in the water about ten feet down. Draco crabbed her around the waist with one arm and swam upwards. Granger weighed him down, but he managed to reach the top of the drop-off and sank down on his knees on the seafloor. His lungs were burning. He staggered to his feet and carried Granger out of the water.

Draco's heart was pounding with fear as he laid Granger out on the sand. He was trying hard not to panic – Malfoys Did Not Panic – but at the same time a cool voice in the back of his mind was calmly reminding him of what to do.

Luckily for him, his mother Narcissa was just paranoid enough to insist that Draco take a lifeguarding class along with all the other expensive, private swimming classes she had paid for. In that class, Draco had been taught the steps for performing CPR, for the rare occasion when he might need to save someone's life.

Apparently, that rare occasion was now.

Draco bent over Granger, tilting her forehead back and lifting her chin to open her airway. He leaned closer to see if she was breathing, but he was unable to tell. He was growling mentally at his lifeguarding instructor, who was unwilling to let his students practice on live people and who, being a Squib, was unable to charm mannequins to breathe and have a pulse.

Well, Draco thought, better safe than sorry. He pinched Granger's nose shut, gathered up his courage, and placed his mouth over hers. He breathed once, waited several seconds, breathed again, and checked to see if she was breathing. She wasn't; he placed two fingers against her throat gently and found a pulse. He sighed in relief. At least she was still alive.

Draco leaned in again to deliver rescue breathing.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

The darkness was beginning to fade away. There was feeling again, returning little by little, and sight and sound. There was a golden light filtering in through her eyelids, and the sound of waves crashed in her ears.

Hermione felt pressure on her nose, and air in her lungs, once, then twice. There was a pause, and something rested gently on her throat.

Where was she? She could feel something hard underneath her. What had happened? That she remembered: falling through the water, coming up for air once, but the water was closing in around her, filling her mouth and nose. After that there had been only darkness. 

She was on the beach still, she decided. The hard, gritty stuff beneath her could only be sand.

As the rest of her senses returned, Hermione felt the pressure on her nose again. This time, with the pressure, she felt something touching her lips, and air forced itself into her lungs. The something on her lips disappeared, then came back, and the air was forced into her mouth again. What was happening? Her mind slowly put the facts together. She had almost drowned; someone had saved her life. In Hermione's semiconscious mind held onto only one thought: whoever it was, she had to thank them.

Slowly, carefully, Hermione forced her eyes open. The sun was right in her face, blinding her. But no, it wasn't the sun; it was light shining off platinum blond hair.

Platinum blond hair? Where had she recently seen...

Hermione's eyes snapped open as the truth struck her.

Draco Malfoy had his lips plastered to her face.

For several seconds, Hermione was too shocked to do anything. Then she let out a squeal of disgust and raised her leaden arms to push him away. He scrambled away from her as she sat up, coughing. When she started hacking up water, Malfoy hesitated, then reached out and pounded her on the back several times.

Her lungs finally free of water, Hermione sat and stared at Malfoy, taking in great gasping breaths of air. She was at a complete loss of words.

Malfoy spoke first. "I expect I'll have to sterilize my mouth now," he said, his arrogant, unfriendly attitude back again. Hermione's hands curled into fists.

"You didn't have to save my life," she snapped back without thinking.

"No," Malfoy replied pointedly. "I didn't."

Hermione swallowed. She was silent for a few moments. Finally she said sourly, "I suppose it would sound overly dramatic to say I owe you my life."

"Yes," Malfoy said wickedly, "but it would be quite accurate."

Hermione could feel her face burning in anger. She pushed herself unsteadily to her feet and stood a moment, swaying. Once she had her balance, she turned and started walking away from Malfoy.

"Hey, Granger! Is that all?" he called from behind her.

She whipped around again. "What were you expecting? That I'd fall on my knees in your exalted presence and praise the great Draco Malfoy for saving my unworthy life? Did you think I'd offer myself to be your humble slave for life because you're the cruel, arrogant, selfish spawn of hell?" Hermione glared at him.

"Watch your mouth, Mudblood," he growled at her.

She stood for a moment, feeling the air knocked out of her by the strength of his insult. "Watch yours, Malfoy," she snapped finally, and stormed away, blinking tears out of her eyes.

How could he? How _dare_ he? Granted, he had saved her life, but to rub it in her face when her near-death experience was traumatizing enough? It was downright satanic.

But that was Draco Malfoy for you.


	3. Plans

DISCLAIMER: Most of the subject matter in this story is owned by J. K. Rowling. Chances are, if you recognize it, it's hers. I own only the setting (France), the plot, and the librarian in chapter four.

The tall, blond man stood at the window, staring out at the stormy sky. That morning had been clear and sunny, with the sunlight glinting like diamonds on the sapphire-blue sea. The storm had sprung up from the south, and now a warm grey drizzle fell. This was definitely not one's ideal vacation weather; when spending the summer on the Mediterranean, one expected cloudless skies and perfect temperatures.

The man scowled. What was he thinking? He was not in France for a vacation; the reason for his trip to the Mediterranean was strictly business. Mentally he berated himself for being so careless as to forget this, while at the same time wondering how on earth he had managed to do so, since his business was sitting in a chair behind him.

The man's business chose that moment to break the silence. "I believe it is time for me to explain why I brought you to France. I know you are curious, though you do well at hiding it."

"My lord, you need explain nothing to me," the blond man said, turning away from the window, his long hair sweeping in a silvery arc behind him.

"Nonsense, Lucius," the cloaked figure in the chair said. "You are my right-hand man; it is only reasonable that you should be privy to my plans. You were doing well enough in England, so I shall give you a greater assignment in France."

"You do me much honor, my lord." 

"It is honor you deserve, Lucius..." Red eyes gleamed from beneath the cloak's hood. "For among all of my followers, you are the only one I trust. Even Wormtail proved to be useless in the end." Lord Voldemort shook his head. "However, I did not come here to make idle chatter. I have thought much since my last communication with you, and I have laid plans for my success. You, Lucius, are crucial to those plans."

"Tell me how I may serve you, my lord, and I shall do your bidding or die trying," Lucius Malfoy said, kneeling before Voldemort and bowing his head respectfully.

"That is what I like to hear," Voldemort drawled, his eyes resting on the top of Lucius' head. "Very well. You know that my ultimate plot is the death of Harry Potter and the defeat of Albus Dumbledore. I realized only recently that I have been going at it all wrong; I cannot make them stumble into my trap if all they have is dreams and suspicious thoughts to lead them to me. No, I must have something concrete."

"Like what, my lord?"

"Last year we coaxed Potter and his friends to the Department of Mysteries by sending dreams to him, telling him that Sirius Black was in trouble. What we do now is simply send him a letter by owl saying that we have one of his little friends held hostage. It will be irresistible. Potter will come after her, and it will be only too easy to kill them both."

"Her?" Lucius asked, frowning. "You already have someone in mind, my lord?"

"Yes, Lucius, a Muggle-born girl by the name of Hermione Granger," Voldemort explained patiently.

"B-but, my lord," Lucius stammered, "th-there is a s-slight problem with y-your plan."

Voldemort's red eyes glinted dangerously. "And that is?"

"Well, the – the girl. Granger. We don't have her."

Voldemort laughed lightly. "Not yet. Don't worry, Lucius. It won't require much difficulty to have Hermione Granger in our grasp. You see, there was a reason I had you come to this godforsaken French town, that reason being that the Granger family is spending the summer holiday in a villa less than a mile away from this house. What's more, she is completely unsuspecting. As far as I am aware, she has no knowledge that your family is even in France." He paused. "And there is something else I must discuss with you."

"Yes, my lord?" Lucius asked.

"Draco," Voldemort replied. "He is to be a fairly significant part of my plan."

Lucius's lip curled. "If you can make some use of the fool that is my son, my lord, you may do whatever you wish with him."

"Good," Voldemort said, leaning back in his chair, and evil smile forming under the hood of his cloak.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

Draco eased away from the study door, not quite willing to hear any more. If Voldemort had plans for him, it certainly wasn't good. Generally, Voldemort's plans for his minions ended in death or capture. Draco wasn't fond of either; he was too young to die now, and the idea of a lifetime in Azkaban had no appeal. 

Draco cautiously made his way down the hallway, staying close to the wall to avoid making any noise on the creaky floor. If Lucius or Voldemort caught him eavesdropping on their conversation, death and prison would be the least of Draco's worries.

As he went quietly out through the front door, grabbing a raincoat on the way, he mulled over what he had heard. Potter had it coming to him, but this was no surprise, since no on who tangled with Lord Voldemort died of natural causes. And Dumbledore – well, Dumbledore had a habit of shoving his nose into places it didn't belong. And he was just going to have to pay the consequences, the interfering old bat.

Draco wandered aimlessly down the street, frowning as another name popped into his head. Granger. Why Granger, of all people? Why not Ginny Weasley, whom everyone know Potter had a soft spot for, or Loony Lovegood, who was Potter's girlfriend? Or even Weasley the elder, Potter's best friend.

Well, it was convenient, obviously. Granger and her family were in a tiny village where nobody knew her and nobody would notice her disappearance. She was also very smart for her age. And there was no doubt that, although she was not the closest person to Potter, there was a certain bond between them. A bond that Draco knew stretched back to a mountain troll in the girl's lavatory.

Draco couldn't help but let a smirk form on his lips. Wasn't it just like Granger to get herself locked into a small room with a deadly monster?

With a sigh, Draco pushed open the door of a café, where he ordered a café au lait at a table by the window. He needed the coffee to help him think.

His thoughts reluctantly returned to the voices in the study. Lord Voldemort's plan was simple but effective; one of Potter's friends would be held hostage, but unlike last year's scheme, there would be no uncertainties about it. Potter's hand would be forced. Knowing him, he'd be unwilling to let Granger die, but he'd have to sacrifice himself, and that would be the end of Harry Potter. After that, it would be short work for Voldemort to gain world power.

Draco shuddered. The idea of Voldemort ruling the world wasn't a very nice one, and although Draco usually wasn't fond of Nice Ideas, he absolutely despised the only other option. Noble suicide would probably be Draco's choice in a world ruled by Voldemort.

This thought produced a spark of rebellion. Why should Draco risk his life for a plan that would probably end with his death anyway? Voldemort could rot in hell. Of course, Draco wasn't about to go and fight on Potter's side, either.

Draco's head dropped into his hands. What to do?

If only, he thought bitterly, he could maneuver himself into a position in which he could render both sides incapable of action. Both sides could thus be eliminated.

He took a sip of coffee, staring out the window. He could feel the weight of hopelessness hanging on his shoulders. There was no point in any of it. Draco's world was beginning to shatter, and there was just no point.


	4. An Offer of Peace

Author's Note: No, I haven't died. Sorry it's taken so long to update! But I won't waste your time with petty excuses. Culture note: _limonade_ is, as far as I am aware, the French equivalent of lemonade, and when you order it in a café (or, assumably, anywhere else) they serve you water and lemon juice and sugar and you can mix it up yourself. At least, I think that's the way it works. If by any chance you happen to be French, and I'm horribly wrong, then please correct me! Oh yeah, and "des histoires" and "des sciences" mean, respectively, "histories" and "sciences".

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Draco Malfoy (*sigh*)... or anything else, for that matter, except (as you well know by now) the setting, plot, and librarian.

Hermione was on a mission. She was staggering down the street toward the village, a large, heavy package in her arms and a bundle of letters in her hand. She was on her way to the post office to mail Harry's birthday gifts and various letters to all her friends at school.

Reaching the post office, Hermione pushed open the door with her shoulder and went inside. She left her mail with the man behind the desk, paid the necessary amount, and picked up the mail from her family's P.O. box. Leafing through the jumble of letters, she found one that was addressed to her.

Hermione left the post office again and sat on one of the steps leading up to the door. She pulled her pocketknife out of her jeans pocket and slit the top of the envelope. She unfolded the letter inside, delighted to discover that it was from Ron.

__

Hermione,

I hope you're having a good vacation in France! Harry and I are practicing very hard for this year's Quidditch season. We both have day jobs at Fred and George's joke shop this summer. When are you coming back from France? You ought to stop by and see us. Fred promises that he'll give you a special discount, "just for being Hermione," he says. Will you be in London the Thursday before we go back to school? Harry, Luna, Ginny and I were all planning on going school shopping that day. I hope you can make it! See you then,

Ron

P.S. I hope this letter gets to you all right. The Muggle mail system is quite confusing.

Hermione shook her head, chuckling. Harry had told her once about the letter that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had sent to him. Almost every square inch had been covered in stamps. Needless to say, it had attracted the Muggle mail carrier's attention and had caused problems for Harry at home.

She stood up again, dusting off the seat off her pants. Her father had asked her to buy some orange juice and eggs while she was in town. She also wanted to stop by the library, since she had an entire afternoon to fill. Perhaps she could get some of her summer homework done.

Hermione started down the street toward the supermarket. She'd get the groceries first, then take them back to the villa and get her schoolbooks. She could spend the rest of the afternoon in the library.

Forty-five minutes later, Hermione was walking purposefully toward a brick building near the center of the village, her book bag hanging over her shoulder. She scampered up the stairs and pushed open the heavy oak door, over which sparkling brass letters spelled out the word "Bibliothèque". She paused just inside to allow her eyes to adjust to the library's gloom.

Tall bookshelves stretched away in front of her. They were arranged in rows that ran the length of the long room. At Hermione's right, the librarian looked up from her computer to give Hermione a distracted smile. Hermione smiled back and started down the long room. On the left, several doors led to various meeting rooms. At the end of the long room were several soundproof, two-person study rooms. Hermione made her way toward these.

She chose the room in the middle after peering in through the thick glass door to make sure no one was inside. She closed and locked the door behind her before setting her book bag on the desk. She switched on the desk lamp and sat down, ready to begin studying.

Hermione pulled out her Arithmancy textbook, a pencil, and her notebook. Her Arithmancy teacher would expect the assignment to be written on parchment, not paper, but Hermione could rewrite it when she revised it. She flipped the book open to the pages she had to read and started in.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

Draco had definitely had better days. His depression from the day before was still plaguing him, and to top it off, the caffeine from the coffee he'd had had kept him awake until the early hours of the morning.

Fortunately for Draco, however, Lucius hadn't spoken to him about Voldemort's plans. Draco had yet to decide whether or not this was a good thing, since it could mean that Draco's part was very risky and complex. The other, less likely, chance was that Voldemort had rethought his dependence on Draco.

Draco stood in front of the house his father had rented, holding his bicycle upright by its handlebars. It was almost noon and he had absolutely no plans for the day, other than escaping the house. He had briefly considered going down to the beach, but he was eager to avoid that place after his incident with Granger. There was little to do in this village; nowhere to go, nothing to take up his time...except homework. Draco scowled. He was avoiding his homework the same way he was avoiding the beach. He had a star map to complete for Astronomy and essays for Potions and History of Magic.

Draco sighed, adjusting the books in his arms. He forced himself to mount his bike, then paused a moment to wonder where he should go to study. The café was too noisy and the park was windy and full of tourists. He didn't want to go to the beach, and he couldn't afford to study at home...

The lightbulb went off. At Hogwarts, his favorite place to study was the school library. This village had a library as well, and although it was almost half the size of Hogwarts' library, it had some very nice study rooms.

Still Draco hesitated. He really didn't want to do his homework. He had a whole afternoon, anyway, and there was still a good deal of time left before school started again. Surely he could at least stop at the café for an hour or so. He did have a good book to pass the time with, anyway...

He started pedaling down the street toward the café. He felt no absolutely guilt at putting aside his homework. Draco Malfoy was the prince of procrastination.

After chaining his bike outside the café, Draco found his favorite table near the window and stowed his books under the table, where no one would notice their strange titles. He summoned the waitress and ordered _une_ _limonade_.

As he mixed his drink, he glanced idly out the window. To his annoyance, he saw Hermione Granger, who was seated on the steps of the post office across the street, reading a letter. She was smiling over something; Draco couldn't help but wonder darkly how she could be laughing at all when her life as she knew it was about to take a turn for the worse.

For one swift moment, Draco was tempted to run out of the café, grab Granger by the shoulders, and yell at her to get her family out of France while they were still safe. Hell, he wanted to help them get out himself, and perhaps even leave France with them, just to get away from Lucius.

But the moment passed. Granger got up and dusted off the seat of her pants, and started down the street. Draco was left with his spoon still in his hand, his _limonade_ slowly swirling like a whirlpool in its glass, with a look of helplessness on his face as he watched a carefree, unsuspecting girl walking down the street.

Draco shook his head, fighting a sudden envy. How could he be envious of Granger? He was a Malfoy, and she was a Mudblood. Yet there it was. Granger, for once, actually had something Draco didn't (besides I.Q.). Innocence. Carelessness. And Draco was envious.

Draco slammed his spoon down on the table, attracting stares from the other customers in the café. He ignored them. Of course Granger was innocent. She had a lot going for her. She was a member of the Dream Team, who were on an eternal quest to fight evil and preserve innocence in the world. And there was also the simple fact that she was in France for a vacation, not because her father was helping Lord Voldemort plot world domination.

With a sigh, Draco let his worries go, reaching under the table to pull out a book. It was a copy of William Shakespeare's _Hamlet_, which had been read so many times that it was battered and worn. Draco always liked to read Hamlet when he was depressed; it reminded him that there were people with worse problems than his.

An hour later, Draco's glass was dry and he had finished reading Act One. He forcefully reminded himself that he had promised himself only one hour, and started to pack up his schoolbooks. As he exited the café, he squinted into the sudden sunlight. There, on the steps just across the street, was where Granger had been reading her mail an hour ago. Draco growled at himself, trying to stop his inner debate before it started. He bent down to unchain his bike.

Why was he suddenly so obsessed with Granger? he wondered as he started down the street toward the library. First he'd saved her life, then he'd wanted to get her family to safety, and now he was jealous of her, all within a period of three days. Or maybe it wasn't so sudden, he thought, remembering the Quidditch World Cup the summer before fourth year. When the Dark Mark had gone up in the sky, Draco's father had told him to wait in the forest until the excitement died down. While he was waiting, the Dram Team had shown up. Draco had warned Granger to get away, lest she end up upside-down in the air with her knickers displayed for any drunk Death Eater who wished to examine them.

Draco couldn't remember why he'd done it. It had just seemed a good idea at the time. Then again, saving Granger from drowning had also seemed a good idea at the time.

He stopped at the library and chained up his bike again. He stood there for a few moments, trying to clear his head. For goodness' sake, if he was that obsessed with the girl, maybe he ought to just kidnap her.

That stray thought, which was intended to cheer him up, made him stop. It was an absolutely crazy idea, but perhaps it was the answer he was looking for. If Hermione Granger was unavailable to both Voldemort and Potter, it might go far toward foiling both of their plans.

Draco went up the steps and pushed open the library door. This new idea of his would have to be carefully planned out. He blinked in the dim light of the library and gave the librarian a polite nod before entering the long room. He wandered down the length of the room, absently reading the signs at the end of each aisle, but not paying much attention as he passed "des histoires" and "des sciences." 

One thing he ought to do if he was actually going to kidnap Granger, Draco thought distractedly, would be to gain her trust. He didn't really relish the idea of hauling her, kicking and screaming, halfway across the continent, and since it was summer holiday and it was illegal for him to do underage magic, that would be prove to be a problem. Of course, the idea of befriending the crazy girl, well, that wasn't something he'd do unless his life absolutely depended on it. Which, Draco thought wryly, it did, and so far he had no other plan of action. He sighed. Befriend Granger it was, then.

Draco reached the study rooms without realizing it. He looked in through the thick glass door of the one in front of him, and – surprise, surprise – Granger was sitting at the desk, paging through her Arithmancy textbook and writing something in a notebook. Draco was about to slip away, but it was too late; Granger had seen him. He sighed and opened the door.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

Hermione was turning pages as she wrote, trying to find the answer to a particularly difficult question, when a shadow fell over her work. Surprised, she glanced up, and saw Malfoy peering at her through the glass door. She saw him sigh and reach for the doorknob, and her heart sank. Why did he have to bother her now? She needed to finish her Arithmancy homework today and really wasn't in the mood for a spat with Malfoy.

She scowled up at him as he stepped into the study room. She waited until the door was closed before she asked scathingly, "What do you think you're doing here, Malfoy?"

Malfoy chose not to answer, but instead became very interested in her textbook. "You're working on the Arithmancy assignment?"

"Yes," Hermione said shortly. "You didn't answer my question."

Malfoy looked embarrassed. "I was hoping we could study together."

Hermione was speechless. She stood and started at him for a few moments, then realized what she was doing and turned away, seething. "Why, so that you could copy my work? I'm not that cheap, Malfoy."

He seemed rather taken aback. "No, that wasn't what I was thinking at all! Look Granger... I – I wanted to apologize for being so nasty to you the other day. You didn't deserve anything I said then."

"But what, I did deserve everything else you've said to me for the past six years?"

Now Malfoy was just plain bewildered. "No, I'm not saying that at all-"

Hermione cut him off. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but you've gone way to far for me to forgive you that easily," she said, her voice cold. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I'm not going to fall for any of your tricks."

It was Malfoy's turn to stand and stare at Hermione. "No," he said desperately, "I'm not trying to trick you, I swear! You've got to take my word for it!"

"Why?" Hermione shot back. She took several steps forward and poked Malfoy in the chest forcefully with one finger. "What have I ever done to make you think I'd take you word for anything? What have you ever done to make me think I should trust you?" She glared at him. "Here's ou answer. No, I will not study with you. Now kindly go away."

Malfoy, however, appeared to have no intention of kindly going away. "Look, Granger," he said with a slight degree of impatience, "It's all right with me if you won't forgive me for anything. I understand-"

"Do you?" Hermione cut in, frowning.

He ignored her interruption. "-and all I want is for the two of us to stop being so beastly to each other. I just want to start over between us."

"Why?" Hermione asked again, suspicious. "Why this change of heart all of a sudden?"

Malfoy shrugged. "You probably won't believe me, even if I tell you the truth," he replied, giving her a mildly reproachful look.

Hermione sighed, and forced herself to abandon her hostile attitude in favor of one of annoyance instead. "Try me," she said, crossing her arms over her chest expectantly.

To her utter surprise, Malfoy gave her an honest, genuine grin. Hermione was rather shocked. To her knowledge, she had never seen him grin before. And not only that, but he seemed to be laughing at himself, which was something altogether unheard of. "All right. This may sound incredibly weird, but ever since I...rescued you at the beach the other day, I've had several attacks from my conscience, and I realized that our, er, previous attitudes toward each other have been..." He stopped and shook his head. "Okay, I'm going to stop talking like some sort of psychologist shrink for a moment. Look, for the past several days, I've been thinking a lot, and I realized that I've just been really stupid. I should never have said anything hurtful about you, not ever. And at the beach the other day, when you were unconscious, I was actually afraid you might die, and it just put everything into perspective. I decided that I just want to try again with you." Malfoy paused for a moment as if considering his next words. "I might even be willing to apologize to Potter and Weasley."

By the time Malfoy finished, Hermione was standing with her mouth hanging open in complete shock. Had Malfoy really just said everything she thought he'd said, or were her ears deceiving her? Finally, she managed to stammer out, "Wh-why don't you meet me here again tomorrow at this time? I- I think I'm going to need a day or so to think this over."

"Sure thing," Malfoy said coolly. He turned and walked out, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

Draco left the study room and found a separate corner of the library where he could do his own studying. His tongue could still taste the lies he had fed Granger, and his lips were tingling from his forced grin. He shook his head, smirking to himself. Getting Granger to trust him had been easier than he'd thought.


	5. Thoughts and Unexpected Visitors

Disclaimer: Do I really need to put another one of these up? I think by now you get the point. I only own the plot, setting, and librarian. I don't own Draco Malfoy, even though I wish I did (*grins slyly*). Anyway, if I owned this stuff, do you really think I'd be posting it on a *fan* *fiction* web site?

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

It was long past midnight. A single window was lit in the seaside villa. Hermione sat in the windowseat in her bedroom, staring out at the moonlight on the water. She'd spent the rest of her afternoon considering Malfoy's offer of peace, and she was still stunned by what he'd said that afternoon. 

Hermione's mind was in a state of turmoil. She wanted very badly to believe that Malfoy meant what he'd said, but her experiences with him made that very unlikely. Hermione had known Malfoy for six long years, and during that time, her encounters with him had been less than pleasant. Most of the time, the only words they exchanged were insults.

Hermione sighed, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window. She hated Malfoy, but she thought she wanted to like him. Or maybe it was the other way around? Hermione wasn't a very hateful sort of person, except where Malfoy was concerned. She was also not a very violent person, and Malfoy was one of the only people that she had ever hit. Who was Malfoy, that he could turn Hermione into someone she didn't know?

She mulled over her memories of the past six years, remembering her run-ins with Malfoy. The train ride to Hogwarts every year; the time in second year when the Chamber of Secrets was opened and Malfoy had said he hoped she died first; the hippogriff incident in third year; her antipathy for Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, of which Malfoy was a part; and the Quidditch World Cup, the summer before fourth year.

That was a horrid memory – stumbling upon Malfoy in the woods a night while trying to find the Weasleys and escape from the Death Eaters who were causing mayhem. Draco Malfoy had stood there, casually leaning against a tree, insulting them in his infuriating manner and trying to get Hermione away.

Wait a minute.

Hermione's brow furrowed. Though she'd never thought about it in this light before, that night, in the forest, Malfoy had actually tried to help her. He'd been trying to spare her a night of gruesome torturing. He'd acted in a completely un-Malfoy-like manner.

And if he could lose his heartless façade once, perhaps he could lose it again...or discard it completely.

Hermione ran her hand through her short curly hair, as if the simple action could help her organize her thoughts and reach a decision. Should she take Malfoy up on his offer? Should she trust him? She wasn't sure she was willing to just forget the last six years of her life for Malfoy's friendship, yet she was tempted to do so anyway.

Who was it who'd said, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer"? They were wise, whoever it was. Perhaps it would be smart to take the advice. Malfoy was the sort of person it would be a good idea to keep an eye on, in any case.

So that was it, then. When Hermione met Malfoy in the library, she'd be accepting his offer.

Hermione got up off the window seat, stretched, yawned, and crawled into bed. She looked at the clock on the bedside table as she reached to turn out the light. It read ten minutes to three. She shook her head as she leaned back into her pillow. Hermione was too much the night owl. Oh well. It was summer; she could always sleep in. She smiled a bit to herself and was soon fast asleep.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

Meanwhile, in the rented house in the village, Draco was still sitting at his desk, poring over a map of Europe. He was attempting to finalize his plans to kidnap Granger, but he needed to find a place to take her. He wanted somewhere where no one would think of looking for him, and was now scanning his map for any likely places. He'd found an abandoned castle in northeastern France, but it was closer to his father and Voldemort's location than he'd like. Still, it would only infuriate them more if he hid under their very noses...

Draco ran his hand through his hair, irritably shoving several loose strands out of his face, and glanced at his clock. It was several minutes before three o'clock. Draco smothered a yawn and turned back to his map. He was tired, but he had to finalize his plans before he met Granger at the library tomorrow...rather, this afternoon.

He already knew what Granger's answer was going to be; he'd seen it in her face yesterday, and he'd known his offer would be irresistible to a girl like Granger. She always wanted to see the best in everybody, and it's easy to make oneself see what one wants too.

When he met Granger at the library, Draco thought he'd convince her to go for a hike, or a bike ride, or something, just to get her away from the village. When they were alone, Draco would turn the tables on her, and whisk her away to someplace where she couldn't be found. Now, all that was left was to find that place.

Draco heard the creak of floorboards behind him, and turned to see Narcissa Malfoy standing in the doorway of his bedroom. She was dressed in a long, white nightgown, with her pale blonde hair plaited into a braid. "Aren't you in bed yet, Draco dear?" she asked with a noticeable lack of affection.

"No, Mother," Draco replied, a bit stiffly, "I'm...doing research for school. I wanted to get it finished tonight."

"Draco," his mother said with a hint of frosty annoyance, "it's three o'clock in the morning."

"I know, Mother. I'll be done soon, I promise." He studied her. "Is my light keeping you awake?"

"No, the light's not a problem," Narcissa replied. She turned toward the door. "Just get to sleep soon, if you will. I should hate to have to deal with a disagreeable child in the morning." And with that, she left the room.

"I'm hardly a child anymore, _Mother dear_," Draco whispered bitterly once he was sure she had gone. He sighed and turned back to the map with a frown.

Well, there was nothing for it. He was too exhausted to concentrate anymore, and he would just have to make do with that abandoned castle. 

Draco sat at his desk again, shaking his head at the map. He carefully rolled it up, opened his desk drawer, and laid it inside. He started to close the drawer once more, but paused for a moment before reaching inside again. He pulled out a small, ornately carved wooden box and set it on his desk. He lifted the top off and set it aside, then took out a cloth-wrapped bundle and pulled away the wrapping.

A small, silver-handled dagger lay in his hands. It had a delicately carvedhilt, and its blade was sharp but only about four inches long. It had been a gift from his grandfather in celebration of his acceptance into Hogwarts. Draco stared grimly down at it. He had always hoped that he would never have to use it, even though he obeyed his father's orders to keep it nearby just in case he did have to.

But this was summer vacation, and for the next two months magic was illegal for underage wizards. Since Draco didn't expect Granger to be willing to be kidnapped, he had to have some way to force her to cooperate.

Draco rewrapped the knife and laid it back in its box. He'd take it with him to the library tomorrow. He glanced at his clock. It was really far too late, or far too early, for him to be awake still. He made his way over to his bed and crawled inside, not even bothering to undress. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

^ * ^ * ^ * ^

"Hermione?"

Hermione was brought out of her dream by the sound of her name being called. Her first thought was one of annoyance. Who on earth was waking her up? She'd give them a piece of her mind, whoever it was...but maybe later, after she'd slept for a few more hours.

"Hermione!"

There it was again. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? Couldn't they see she didn't want to wake up yet?

"_Hermione!_"

Hermione groaned and opened her eyes, blinking into the blinding sunlight that was streaming in though her open window. Apparently she'd forgotten to close the curtains last night. That was one mistake she'd never make again. Hermione struggled into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes, and turned to look toward the source of the voice.

The sight that met her bleary eyes was probably one of the last ones she expected. Harry and Ron stood in her doorway, peering in at her as if they were too embarrassed to enter a girl's bedroom, which Hermione wouldn't find surprising. Both of them gave her cheerful smiles, however, when they saw that she was awake. 

"Hello, Hermione!" Harry said cheerfully. "Ron and I thought we'd come and visit you today. I hope we didn't come too early," he added uncertainly, glancing toward her clock.

Hermione followed his gaze. It was seven-thirty in the morning. She sighed. She was delighted to have her friends show up to visit, but she would have appreciated it if they'd waited a few hours more to come. She yawned and clambered out of bed. 

"Of course not," she said, smiling warmly. "Though I have to admit, it's quite a surprise to see you here. I wasn't expecting you."

"Fred and George gave us the day off," Ron explained. "Mum didn't want us at the Burrow unless we helped with the housework, so we thought we'd come and see what France was like."

"I'm glad you did," Hermione replied. "I'm sorry I'm not being very hospitable yet, but considering that I just woke up, I'm afraid I'll have to kick you out of my room while I get dressed." When she saw Harry and Ron exchange a worried and confused glance, she said, "You can help yourself to breakfast while you wait, if you like. There's cereal and juice in the kitchen. You can help yourself if you haven't eaten yet." Both boys' expressions cleared immediately and they nodded at her before heading toward the kitchen.

Quickly Hermione put on a clean outfit and pulled a brush through her hair. She made her bed and checked to make sure that her room was as neatly arranged as she had left it last night, before she went downstairs to join her friends. When she reached the kitchen, she found that Harry and Ron had already found the breakfast food, and that her mother was awake and frying eggs for them while interrogating them about their summer vacation.

"Would you like me to make you an egg too, Hermione?" Mrs. Granger asked as Hermione seated herself at the kitchen table across from Harry.

"Yes, please," Hermione said.

After a leisurely breakfast, she led Ron and Harry outside, promising them a tour of the town. "There isn't much here besides beach and countryside," Hermione explained. "But the beach is great anyway, and the village is quite charming. There's an amazing café here, too. I'll have to take you there for lunch. Of course, I've spent a lot of my time in the library, doing my homework-"

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, horrified. "It's the summer holiday!"

"I know," Hermione replied tartly. "I want to get my work done soon so I can enjoy my vacation! It isn't as if I enjoy doing homework..."

"Yes it is," Harry and Ron said simultaneously. Deciding that she couldn't argue with that, Hermione figured that it might be good to distract her friends with a trip to the beach.

"The beach is this way," she said, and led them down the road toward the sea. 

They spent the next few hours at the beach, making sandcastles, splashing around in their soaking wet clothes and mock-sword fighting with pieces of driftwood. After Hermione had been dunked in the waves at least twenty times, and done quite a bit of dunking herself, Harry and Ron decided to Apparate back to the Burrow for a change of clothes. They arranged to meet at Hermione's rented villa in half an hour, and Hermione would take them to the café for lunch.

Ron and Harry disappeared with a _pop_, leaving Hermione alone on the beach. She smiled after her friends and turned to go home.

It was with some surprise that she noticed someone walking down the road toward the beach. A certain someone that Hermione hadn't expected to see yet, with pale blond hair that stood out even from this distance. Hermione took a deep breath to calm her sudden nervousness. It was ridiculous to be feeling nervous and embarrassed, wasn't it? It was only Malfoy, after all... She'd known she would have to face him sometime, but there was no reason to be embarrassed, was there?

Of course there was, Hermione told herself shortly. Especially considering the rather confusing and embarrassing events of the past few days. She squared her shoulders and waited for him to reach her.

"Hello, Granger," Malfoy called when he was within earshot. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Hermione spent a split second marveling at the friendly tone of his voice, then she pulled herself together and replied, "No, neither did I."

There was a short awkward silence, in which Malfoy reached her and stopped a few feet away. After several moments of wondering what to say to break the silence, Hermione blurted out, "I've decided to accept your offer." 

Malfoy looked at her in what appeared to be surprise. "You did? Great!" he said with delight. Then he laughed and looked away. "I was up late last night, wondering about it." He shook his head, as if trying to dispel embarrassment, and asked, "So what are you doing here?"

"Oh, Harry and Ron showed up this morning," Hermione explained. "I decided to show them the beach."

"I hope that no one had to make any more rescue attempts," Malfoy teased, and Hermione could feel her cheeks flush.

"No," she said. There was another awkward silence.

"You know, I've been thinking," Malfoy said suddenly. "If we're going to be on, er, friendly terms, I think we ought to call each other by our first names."

"You mean you want me to call you Draco?" Hermione said in mild surprise.

"Yes. And I'll call you Hermione."

Hermione could feel herself blushing again. She'd never heard Malfoy – Draco - use her first name before. This was quite an odd situation.

"Well, I'd better get home and get changed into dry clothes," Hermione said, gesturing to her sopping wet garments. "I'll see you later, I suppose."

"I guess," Malf - Draco said as she turned away. "Bye."

Hermione had only walked a few paces across the sand when she turned around again and said spontaneously, "Say, er, Draco... Harry and Ron and I are all going to that café in town for lunch in about half an hour. Would you like to join us?"

He flashed her the grin that she'd only seen once before. "I'd love that," he said. "I'll be there."


End file.
